


Pow!

by orphan_account



Series: HSWC 2014 BR Fills [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: And Other Trickery, Blood, Gen, Kissing, M/M, Nosebleeds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:15:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Egbert is a grade-A asshole and he deserves everything horrible that's ever coming to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pow!

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:
> 
> Karkat<3John
> 
> Remember Karkat's first kiss? And how it was all because of a stupid prank?

You can’t believe what’s happening right now. You spent all day staring at this stupid function Sollux sent you that he claims will hack into and drain Eridan’s entire grist cache, and you must have fried your pan on it, because this can’t actually be happening.

Egbert interrupted your face-off with your husktop, an hour ago, and you felt a little bad that you had forgotten you agreed to watch some dumb movie with him tonight. But he didn’t seem to notice, and after turning it on, he even proceeded to seat himself practically on top of you. And by ‘practically on top of’ you mean ‘directly next to.’ Seriously, though, his leg was touching yours. You even squirmed a little away, thinking it was appropriate, but he just wiggled his dumb ass closer to yours again, and you can’t help your stupid, awful, horrible flushcrush on him, so you didn’t have the heart to fight it a second time. You chalked it up to stupid weird human custom, because you didn’t want to lead yourself on.

But he started leaning on you, heavier and heavier throughout the movie, until his head was resting on your shoulder, even though he’s a few inches taller than you and it was an awkward move for him. And then he sat up, suddenly, and whispered your name. You swear he did, because he’s looking at you, and you’re looking at him. You’re pretty sure those things happened in that order, and not that you imagined his stupid-ass squeaky voice softly uttering those two syllables, looked at him, and caused him to look at you in response. You are 90% sure.

And now he’s closed his eyes, and leaned in towards you so your faces are only a few inches apart. Your bloodpusher is threatening to burst out of your chest, making this less romantic and more awful horror movie. These twelve second that you’ve spent debating have been the longest of your life, but how could you misinterpret this? He wants you to kiss him. Those stupid buck teeth protrude just slightly between his pursed lips, and you can’t stand it.

You lick your lips nervously, but your mouth is dry. Fuck it.

You lean in, close your eyes, feel the first brush of his skin against yours—

He jerks back suddenly. “Whoa! Okay that’s not how you play chicken, Karkat.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you squeak, hands tightening defensively into fists.

“I was joking! I didn’t think you’d actually kiss me!”

“I didn’t fucking kiss you, you kissed me, nookwad!”

“I definitely stopped a good three inches away from your face.”

You lose it. You lose it directly into his face. ‘It’ is your fist. You punch him.

You stand up very quickly and storm out of the room, slamming the door to the bathroom behind you. Then you sit on the floor, knees pulled up to your chest, arms crossed over them, and sniffle, because that’s all you’ll allow yourself to do.

A few minutes later, you hear a quiet knock. You deign not to reply. “Karkat?”

“Go away.”

“I’m sorry. That was a stupid prank. And not really a very good one either. I thought you were over the crush thing you had on me. I guess not.”

You can feel your face turning red. Great, a visible reminder of your shitty mutant blood is just what you need to feel better about yourself. Good thing you’re not looking in the mirror. Without even thinking about it, you tell him, “That was my first kiss.” You instantly regret it. Not only are your cheeks burning, but your neck and ears are on fire too.

There’s a pause—a horrible, terrible, drawn out pause. You hear what sounds like him sliding down against the door of the bathroom. “Mine too, actually. Like I said, I didn’t think you’d actually do it. Didn’t really think that one through.”

You don’t have anything to say to that. John has just proven himself a world class shitnugget with the brain capacity of a nut creature. Not that that’s new.

“Can I come in?”

“No. You can get the hell out of my hive. I don’t want to be trapped next to the damn load gaper for the rest of my miserable existence, and it’s your fault I’m here in the first place, so kindly fuck off back to the fermenting asshole from whence you spewed so I can promptly make a list of all the reasons why you’re a bulgechafing douchespleen.”

“If you see my face, I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

“Funny how I’m sure the exact opposite of that is true.”

“Karkat, seriously, open the door. I’m not leaving until you accept my apology. My apology is partially on my face.”

Your face has gotten slightly less red. You stand up and check the mirror to confirm. You still don’t want to open the door, but you believe he’ll actually trap you here until one of you dies. Why couldn’t you have marooned yourself in your room, where you’d at least have something to occupy yourself with until you died of starvation?

You open the door, and he falls back down onto the tile. The bottom half of his face is a disgusting bloody mess that dripped onto his shirt. His hands are gross too. “How is you being revolting supposed to be part of an apology?” you demand, unimpressed.

He stands up and pushes past you to get to the sink, and starts washing away the mess. “I just thought you’d be happy to know you gave me a really good punch.” He winces when his hands brush his nose to clear away the goopy blood. You watch with distaste as it drains away into your sink. “I think you broke it.”

It does look crooked, and you are a bit proud of yourself. It also makes you feel a little better. When he’s done washing away all the blood (though he doesn’t even make an attempt for the shirt—it’s probably completely ruined), he faces you.

“I’m really sorry, Karkat.”

You stare at him flatly, unsure whether you’re willing to forgive him. You motion for him to stoop down a little bit. He does, though he looks worried that you might punch him again. Instead, you bring your hands up to his nose, rest your thumbs gently on either side of it, and jam it back into place. He gives a little scream and winces hard. “Ow, shit. Thanks.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you say. You brush past him and wander into the kitchen. You think you’ll make him bake you a cake, and then maybe you’ll consider his apology.


End file.
